The Betrayal of Mary, Queen of Scots

by Kate Williams

  It seems astonishing that the queen had lived through so much and was still only twenty-four. Her twenty-fifth birthday on 8 December was a dangerous and fast-approaching moment for the lords, for it meant that she had officially reached her majority. Most significantly, she could take back any land grants she had made during the previous years and she had made a lot of grants to those who were now putting her on trial. If she attended Parliament, she could potentially take them back. The lords dashed to produce conspiracies and on 4 December they produced an Act of Council that accused Mary of Darnley’s murder and wishing to kill her son, on the basis that there were ‘letters written and subscribed with her own hand’ sent to James, Earl of Bothwell, chief executioner of the horrible murder, that revealed she was ‘privy, art and part, and of the actual devise and deed of the murder of the king’12 – and thus the lords had taken her into custody on 15 June. The letters themselves were not produced and no quotations were read from them.

  If such overweening evidence of Mary’s guilt existed, then why had the letters not been mentioned earlier? Surely Lindsay and his fellow henchmen would have used them against Mary when they forced her to abdicate at the end of July, just after her miscarriage. And why would Moray not have shown them to Throckmorton or even sent them to Cecil, in their private exchanges? Or even taken them with him to confront his half-sister when he visited her to force her to accept his regency in August? One can only conclude that these letters did not exist on 15 June, either because they had not yet been found, or because they had not yet been written. Equally suspicious was the fact that the casket letters were said to have been found after George Dalgleish, Bothwell’s servant, had been arrested. But, as already noted, very strangely the casket letters were not mentioned around the time of Dalgleish’s capture. And even if they had been found via Dalgleish, that was after 15 June, not before.

  Moreover, if at the trial they referred to the casket letters, none of these were signed. Mary was being accused by the flimsiest of fake evidence – for who would defend her? The Parliament of 15 December that Mary had so hoped to address passed an Act enthusing that Mary’s abdication, James’s accession and the regency of Moray were all ‘lawful and perfect’. The terrible accusations that Mary had manipulated the murder were then ratified. Everything had changed. The lords had said they captured Mary at Carberry Hill due to Bothwell’s perfidy and murder of Darnley, telling her they wished only that she give up her husband. Now, she was being accused of the murder herself.

  The whole story would be that Bothwell and his servants killed Darnley, with Mary’s connivance. Moray had outwitted Mary at every turn, creating alliances, flattering Lady Lennox, promising money and now planning her trial.

  In exile, Mary was devastated at the betrayal of so many, and constantly ill. She knew that she was not going to be released and she feared poisoning or being brought to death. She started to plan her escape, aware from secret letters that some of her old supporters were keen to assist her. At the same time, her subjects were growing increasingly resentful at the continuing mass execution of minor servants for Darnley’s murder. In early January, another set of men were killed, including poor George Dalgleish and John Hepburn.

  When Hepburn was about to mount the scaffold to be hanged, he shouted to the crowd that Huntly, Argyll, Maitland and Balfour had all signed the bond to support Darnley’s murder, to much public consternation. John Hay, another conspirator, apparently also named Balfour and Maitland. The old placards came back, but this time demanding why Hay and Hepburn had not been allowed to publicly explain ‘the manner of the king’s slaughter’13 and who had been involved. The lords accused made a sharp exit from Edinburgh.

  The pattern of loyalties was beginning to shift in Mary’s favour, and her supporters – including Huntly, Argyll, Fleming, Seton and the Hamiltons – believed she had been in prison for long enough. Maitland, who had once been so cruel and dismissive, had now changed his mind. He was resentful of Moray’s high-handed behaviour and surreptitiously sent Mary a ring as a pledge of support. Argyll, too, had defected from the other side. He seems to have genuinely believed that the lords had been trying to rescue Mary when they had seized her the previous June, and he was shocked at her rough treatment and forced imprisonment.

  Emboldened by support from outside, Mary continued to work towards freeing herself. She managed to charm George Douglas, the younger brother of Sir William, the laird of Lochleven, and he helped her get letters to her supporters, including Huntly. Nine months after she had first been confined, she set off disguised as a laundress in a boat across the loch. Unfortunately for her, the boatmen grew suspicious, tried to pull off her muffler and saw that she had beautifully white hands – not those of a laundress. Mary’s fine skin, always a source of pride to her, had betrayed her. The boatman took her back, but chose not to report the flight to the laird. Six weeks later, on 2 May 1568, she made another attempt. Willie Douglas, a young page, had been won to her cause and he’d agreed to help her. He spoiled all the castle’s boats except one and that evening, when the family were at dinner, he stole the key to the castle, whipping it away from under the laird’s nose while he enjoyed his meal. In her room, Mary changed clothes with the ever-faithful Mary Seton. There, her old friend stood at the window dressed as the queen, so that anyone would think it was her – a courageous act.

  Mary and Willie hurried from the castle and as they left, he ingeni­ously locked the castle behind him and cast the key into a cannon. As the family continued to eat and drink, happily unaware, Willie rowed Mary over the loch and met George Douglas at the other side, riding on horses he had stolen from the laird. Mary rode to the castle of Niddrie, owned by Lord Seton, and from there set off to Cadzow Castle, near Hamilton, the headquarters of the Hamilton family – who expected a hefty payback for supporting her escape. She would always be grateful to Willie Douglas too, keeping him in her service until death. At Cadzow, she met Lord Seton and the others and began to plan her next move. All the while, through her imprisonment, assault and final escape, she carried with her the belief in the precious diamond ring that Elizabeth had sent her in 1563, which had been left behind at Holyrood. She clutched the remembrance of it like a talisman, as if it had magical powers to protect her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Forced Out of My Kingdom’

  Mary regained her spirits. She wrote to Moray instructing him that she had been forced to abdicate and thus his position as regent was false. In shock that his half-sister had escaped, he refused to discuss the matter. So the only solution was war. Many Scots, who had been uneasy about the abdication and imprisonment, were keen to support their queen and she soon had around 6,000 men. ‘By battle let us try it’,1 she said. On 8 May, nine earls, nine bishops, eighteen lairds and one hundred other men of influence agreed to support her in a proclamation called the ‘Hamilton bond’. Argyll agreed to lead her army into battle against Moray, who had once been his friend. And now that Mary was claiming she had been compelled to abdicate, Moray’s position was looking very close to treason. This was fighting talk from her but it pushed her half-brother into a corner. If she won, then he could justly be executed and so his side was fired and strengthened in their desire to fight until the death. After all that she had suffered and his cruel treatment of her at Lochleven, where he’d made it clear her life would be in danger if she didn’t sign the deed of abdication, Mary had no more love for him and she was ready to see him die.

  Mary had a third more men than Moray and she had public opinion behind her. Melville had finally brought her the diamond ring that had been Elizabeth’s promise to her – and Mary held tight to it. She was confident of success. But when the half-siblings met on 13 May at the village of Langside, near Glasgow, Moray proved the better commander and gained a swift advantage. William Kirkcaldy of Grange, acting for Moray, proved the decisive factor when he saw that Moray was failing and galloped to his aid with so many men that Moray was able to charge. After a mere for
ty-five minutes, Mary had lost and over a hundred of her men had died. Over 300 of the rest were seized, including Lord Seton and Sir James Hamilton. Mary fled, shaved off her magnificent hair so she would not be recognised and rode her horse without stopping towards Dumbarton Castle, still clutching the diamond ring that Elizabeth had given her. She was right to choose Dumbarton: resting in a secure castle, she could send word to France or simply wait to see how many lords turned to her cause. As she recalled to her uncle in France, ‘I have endured injuries, calumnies, imprisonment, famine, cold, heat, flight not knowing whither, ninety-two miles across the country without stopping or alighting, and then I have to sleep on the ground and drink sour milk and eat oatmeal without bread, and have three nights like the owls.’2

  She stopped first at Dumfries and travelled to the castle of Terregles. There she made a fateful decision. Dumbarton was difficult to reach as she would have to pass Lennox strongholds, so she decided against it. There were other castles she could have aimed for. But Mary was convinced Elizabeth would support her and she should go to England to raise an army. Her supporters at Terregles begged her not to – reminding her that even her own father had been too concerned about imprisonment to meet Henry VIII at York. They pleaded with her to stay in Scotland or at least think of France, where she had valuable lands. And although relations with Catherine de’ Medici were hardly cordial, she still had her Guise family, and Charles IX was said to be sympathetic. For even if Elizabeth was well disposed to Mary, there were all her Protestant churchmen and advisors to reckon with, who would likely prefer a Protestant government in Scotland, even if they were usurpers. But Mary was convinced that Elizabeth could help her and, as she dolefully put it later, ‘I commanded my best friends to permit me to have my own way.’3

  Wearing a cloak and hood borrowed from the laird of Lochnivar, Mary rode to the abbey of Dundrennan. There, she wrote a desperate letter to Elizabeth ‘my dearest sister’, and finally relinquished the diamond ring as a ‘token of her promised friendship’. It was a short letter in which Mary set to ‘acquaint you as quickly as I can’ of her latest misfortunes, that ‘some of my subjects who I most confided in, and had raised to the highest pitch of honour, have taken up arms against me, and treated me with the utmost indignity’. She continued:

  I have since lost a battle, in which most of those who preserved their loyal integrity fell before my eyes. I am now forced out of my kingdom, and driven to such straits that, next to God, I have no hope but in your goodness. I beseech you therefore, my dearest sister, that I may be conducted to your presence, that I may tell you everything that has happened.

  Meanwhile, I beg God to grant you all heavenly blessings and to me patience and comfort, which last I hope and pray to gain by your means.

  To remind you of the reasons I have to depend on England, I send back to the queen, this token, the jewel of her promised friendship and assistance.4

  She sent the ring and letter via John Beaton, imagining its effect on Elizabeth. Mary was convinced that she would return with English fighters behind her, ready to seize her rightful throne. She had reason: although she didn’t know it, Elizabeth had actually written her a letter when she heard of her escape, congratulating her and offering support. But this support was in words only. As had been made clear by the events of the previous year, Elizabeth would exert pressure behind the scenes, argue for reconciliation, but no more. Had Mary remained in Scotland, gathering her army, Elizabeth would have probably sent Throckmorton to press Moray and the lords to negotiate and reach a settlement. That was the kind of support she meant. Not a full-fledged army, riding behind the woman who was the greatest threat to her own claim to the English throne.

  The final battle had been between half-brother and half-sister. At its heart, Mary’s story had always been one of family. Relations had fought to exploit her, families had battled over her, male relatives struggled for control and Darnley had wished to be king. Mary had been betrayed over and over by her family – and the first mistake had been by Mary of Guise, treating her more as a royal brood mare to be married off than a queen. Mary of Guise was motivated by good, hoping to keep her daughter safe and strengthen an important alliance with France. But Mary grew up far from the country of her birth and was always mistrusted for foreign influences. At every score, even when trying to help, Mary’s family had created destruction – and finally, in a brief May afternoon, her half-brother took everything from her.

  Mary imagined she could rely on Elizabeth’s support and the anger of those on the borders. She was right that the area would have been a good recruiting ground. But she was fascinated by England, convinced the queen was her only hope, and acted rashly. Instead of waiting for Elizabeth’s reply (which, granted, might have taken some time to arrive), she decided to cross the border herself. At three o’clock in the afternoon on 16 May, only three days after losing her battle, she and a few loyal followers, and about sixteen attendants, took a fishing boat over the Solway Firth. And so she left the country of her birth, the place of her queenship, for England and Elizabeth, a country and a queen she had never seen.

  The journey took four hours and there was one tale that the queen begged to turn around and travel to France, but it was too late and the wind was against them. But when she arrived at the small Cumberland port of Workington, she was in high spirits and talkative. She stumbled when arriving on English soil, read by some as an omen. Lord Herries sent a message to Sir Henry Curwen of Workington Hall asking for safe harbour – also offering a young Scottish heiress as a bride for Sir Henry’s son. Sir Henry was not present but the party was allowed to use his house – and there Mary wrote again to Elizabeth. In it, she poignantly explained what had happened and how she had been captured and denied the chance to ‘write or speak, in order that I might not contradict their false inventions’.5 Mary believed that Elizabeth had not come to her rescue because she had believed the words of the lords that Mary had wanted to abdicate due to exhaustion. It had not occurred to her that Elizabeth already had known the truth.

  The two rival queens had never met. Now, finally, Mary expected to have the meeting with Elizabeth she had desired for so long. She imagined an honest conversation, emotional and truthful, in which she explained to her horrified cousin everything about the lords’ lies. Elizabeth would then give her money and soldiers and Mary would make a glorious return to power. Mary had left Scotland behind, but she thought she would be back within a month or two, heading a magnificent army.

  The local officials in Workington panicked when they realised that the Scottish queen had crept in. On the following morning Richard Lowther, the deputy governor of Cumberland, rode over with 400 men and requested to escort the queen to Carlisle. Mary was taken first to Cockermouth and then on to Carlisle Castle. Lowther was somewhat confused at how to treat his new visitor: was she captive or queen? At any moment, Elizabeth might summon her to London and she would be conducted in safe passage. And she had not been captured or taken hostage, but instead arrived in the country as a visitor and supplicant. He ordered her expenses to be met and lent her horses to convey her to Carlisle. Mary was dubious about the armed guard put over her there, but still confident. In a letter to one of her supporters on 20 May, Mary wrote that she had been ‘right well received and honourably accompanied and treated’ and expected to be back in Scotland at the head of an army on about ‘the fifteenth day of August’.6 On the 30th, she sent Lord Fleming to London to tell Elizabeth that if she did not help her, then Mary would move quickly to France.

  When Cecil heard the news of Mary’s arrival, he struck. He believed her a failed queen, a Catholic rebel, and he had never forgiven her for her claims to be the Queen of England when she was young. After all, as he saw it, Mary had failed to keep her own throne and perhaps instead she would try to capture Elizabeth’s. And the queen was still under suspicion for murder – and in one sense, it might look as if England was harbouring a fugitive from justice. Most of all, he wished to support his o
ld associate Moray and his Protestant government of lords.

  Elizabeth was shocked that Mary had arrived in England. Her vague promises of help had never been intended to lead to this. But, as Elizabeth knew, a bad king is simply a bad king, a rotten egg who has no bearing on all the others, but a bad queen makes all women rulers look bad. If a woman was too weak to rule Scotland, then what did it say of Elizabeth? She was constantly being importuned to marry, told it was irresponsible to remain single and that the security of the country depended on her taking a powerful husband. Mary’s example gave Elizabeth’s detractors even more ammunition against female monarchs. One might think that the tribulations of Mary at the hands of her husbands would have encouraged Cecil and others to rethink their constant complaints that their mistress should marry. But Darnley and Bothwell were just seen as individual failures rather than a reflection of what happened to men when they got the power of being the queen’s husband. Mary’s weakness was directly relevant to Elizabeth, and it undermined her position. She wanted to punish subjects who rebelled against their monarch.

  But still she was concerned about the lack of a trial for Darnley’s murder and the taint of suspicion. And she knew that it was possible that Catholic rebels might gather around Mary, or even that Philip of Spain might attempt to support her to gain the English throne. Cecil was constantly afraid of invasion, obsessed with the insecurity of the realm. Mary would be a talisman for those wanting to throw Elizabeth off her throne and restore a Catholic monarchy. It is difficult for us to understand now, with hindsight, how much the council – and indeed the ordinary Elizabethan – feared foreign invasion. Those living in the coastal regions looked out for enemy ships. The presence of Mary tripled the threat of invasion overnight.